The Masters' Chronicles 013- Little Chickies
by Fainmaca
Summary: In the halls of Kaer Marter lives a Godling named Maya. One day, she finds a nest of eggs that need a new home. Based on characters and events from the second International edition of the Witcher School LARP in Poland.


"Toril was never an agreeable girl,

Her tongue tells tales of rebellion..."

The light-hearted ditty echoed through the forest as a small shape skipped merrily between the towering tree trunks. Somewhere close by, barking voices could be heard, the stern orders of the Witcher Masters of Kaer Marter. The training grounds of the ancient palace brimmed with young hopefuls, adepts learning to become Witchers of the School of the Cat. The singing figure remained blissfully heedless of them, instead focusing on wending a carefree, meandering path through the forest.

It was only as the figure came to a halt that one could finally make out the details of her appearance. The small creature knelt next to a fallen tree, squatting next to a shallow puddle as she scooped up a few muddy handfuls of water to drink with her bare palms.

The creature was not human, even though it possessed the shape of one. Her tiny frame could be mistaken for a child's, but the green-blue colour to her skin and the large, saucer-like eyes with their glowing golden hue were hard to miss. Her hair was a tangle of messy knots, with leaves and twigs caught amongst the tangled locks. She wore a simple white smock, stained with brown mud, green grass and some other indescribable marks. A crown of spring flowers sat atop her head, some of them beginning to wilt.

She was a Godling, a most unusual creature. A spirit of sorts, she called the forests surrounding Kaer Marter her home. There were some who would say that she and her kind were a nuisance, mischief-makers and pranksters, but she knew better. She was only having fun.

The Godling, Maya, contiued to skip through the trees, whistling her song when she forgot the words, humming when she forgot how to whistle, and belting out the important words whenever she could remember them.

Her merry tune came to a sudden halt as she passed another fallen tree, only to spot a clump of twigs and leaves dropped on the forest floor. Knocked loose by the collapse of the tree, the birds nest now lay out in the open, utterly exposed. Curious, Maya scrambled closer, turning the nest over.

Four sky-blue eggs rolled out of the remains of the nest, unharmed. Three of their kin had not been so lucky, smashed during the fall, their sticky remains now pooling in the dirt.

"Oh, poor little Chickies!" Maya cooed, scooping up the undamaged eggs. "Your house is all broken! And where is your mama and papa, huh?"

The eggs rolled in the palms of her delicate hands, failing to answer her question. Maya chewed her lip for a while. Suddenly, bright light sparked in her eyes.

"I know! You can come home with me! Iwill be your mama! I live in a big castle, and there's plenty of room for some little Chickies! But we need to be careful. If Vern finds you, he might send you to the kitchen, to become breakfast!"

The Godling stuck her tongue out in disgust. Then, with gentle fingers, she stowed the eggs in one of her pockets, careful not to break them. She kept one, slightly larger than the others, in her hand, talking to it as she began to walk back towards the castle.

"You're the big one, so you'll need to look after your little brothers and sisters. Now, what do I call you..."

Maya's brow furrowed for just a moment before her expression brightened.

"I have it! You will be Kura, and you will be your mama's favourite, but don't tell the other Chickies. Now, let's get you home, and find a warm nest to keep you in..."

~o~0~o~

The ancient study of the castle was silent, save for the humming of the Godling and the sounds of ripping parchment. Maya sat atop a small stack of books, a large tome open across her lap. The book was full of strange drawings, pictures of monsters and swords and other things she didn't recognise, including the odd picture-things that the Witchers called letters. Maya didn't know what any of it meant, but she'd seen the scariest Witcher in the castle, the one called Petre, use it many times, so it had to be a good book. Only the best for her little Chickies. She tore out another page, shredding it before adding it to the small nest she was making on one of the shelves. In the nest, the four eggs sat in resolute silence while their new mama spoke to them.

"You're going to love it here, my little Chickies." She bubbled. "You're going to have so many friends! There's Vern, there's Reinicke, there's Petre, although he is kind of scary, there's Muire... and Astrid! She's the Grandmaster here, but I call her Grandma, because she's nice and pretty and knows everything and has lived forever! When you hatch, we'll learn how to play, and you can learn how to fly, although I don't know how I will do that. Maybe we can try from the roof?"

She lifted up the big egg, her 'Kura', and regarded it with a broad grin. She turned the egg over in her palm, enjoying how the light played on its surface. Suddenly, her grin hitched a little. She placed her other palm over the egg.

"Oh, Kura... you're so cold! We need to find a way to keep you warm." She cupped her chin, looking at the four eggs. "I guess normally your mama and papa would sit on you to keep you warm. Maybe I need to find a new papa for you? Hmm..."

Once again, her entire body lifted as the energy of a new idea filled her.

"I know! Lucjan! I am sure he will be more than happy to help. He was so happy when I brought him that honey last week, he even danced with the bees that made it! I am sure he would love to help keep you warm. Although, he doesn't look much like a Chickie..."

The Godling leapt down from her perch on the small tower of books, carefully taking the nest down from where it rested. She placed Kura with his siblings, nodding determinedly.

"Don't worry, my Chickies! I have a plan!"

~o~0~o~

Lucjan sighed as he strode through the halls, past all the dorms that housed the dozens of adepts. His muscles ached, the remnants of a long and tiring hunt. In the end, his prey had escaped his grasp. Bitterness seized his throat as he remembered the way the stag had leapt clear of his arrow. A poor shot that he was glad Muire had not been there to see. He'd have to get some practice in before his next hunt, otherwise gathering enough supplies for the winter was going to become an issue.

He turned a final corner in the twisting maze of hallways to find himself before the door to his private room. Another sigh escaped his breast as a gloved hand reached out for the door handle. Just as he went to turn it, a subtle noise made him pause. It was faint, but he was could have sworn he'd just heard the sound of a quiet chuckle, followed by the slap-slap-slapping of bare feet on floorboards. He waited just a moment, but nothing more reached his ears. Shrugging, he opened the door and stepped through, slamming the heavy oaken portal behind himself.

Seconds later, there was a loud clonk, followed by a long, simmering silence, then a scream of rage.

~o~0~o~

The grand dining hall of Kaer Marter thrummed with activity. Adepts squabbled with one another over what food remained on the vast platters in the centre of the room, while a dozen conversations layered on top of one another. Overseeing it all, Grandmaster Astrid sat at the highest table, picking neatly at her own meal as she watched her charges, the Witchers of the School of the Cat, going about their daily business. A small smile of satisfaction crossed her features. It was a rare thing these days to have a day pass so peacefully. She leaned back in her chair, raising a glass of wine to her lips.

The crashing of the heavy wooden doors at the far end of the hall immediately silenced all conversation. The thunderous echo of stamping feet met the ears of the gathered Witchers as every eye turned towards the stairs leading up to those doors, where a seething figure now stood. Petre, in all of his tall, imposing ferocity, held a defaced tome in his hands, a considerable number of pages missing. His bristling moustache twitched as his lips curved downwards in an even deeper scowl than he normally wore, heavy brows furrowed with rage. Shoulders roast and fall with deep breaths that came faster and faster. Finally, the Master's powerful voice boomed out.

"Where. Is. She."

All were silent in the hall. Astrid carefully placed her glass down, curious to see how the situation would proceed.

A small shape slipped through the door, narrowly evading the seething Petre as she tumbled down the stairs. A bundle of torn papers, leaves and twigs was clutched to the Godling's chest as she bolted for the throng of adepts in the centre of the hall. Before Petre could even blink, the tiny creature had slithered under one of the massive tables, vanishing from view. The intimidating Master took a few steps forward, his boots like thunder on every stair.

Before Petre could even cover half of the stairs, another figure emerged behind him. The silence in the hall took on a more frantic edge, before the guffaws and snickers could no longer be contained. A single loud laugh echoed across the dining hall, from Reinicke, which was not at all surprising to Astrid. A heartbeat later, the rest of the gathering collapsed into raucous laughter, with even the normally stern Grandmaster allowing herself a quiet chuckle.

Master Lucjan stood at the top of the stairs, his entire frame radiating pure rage. Sticky honey covered his head, his shoulders, and much of his torso. Embedded in that honey, clinging to him tightly, were hundreds of feathers. It looked as though the contents of at least a half dozen pillows had been emptied out over the Master, utterly coating him. Through what gaps there were in the fluffy white mass, it looked as though the Master's face was deep crimson, his eyes burning with immeasurable fury. As his shoulders heaved, his anger only seemed to add to the comical appearance.

The two furious Masters raced down the stairs, making a line for the table the Godling had slipped underneath, but she was gone, lithely slipping between the adepts, dodging under tables and over chairs, until she managed to slip past the Grandmaster, finding and open window to tumble through. Astrid made no move to stop her, her face aching as she struggled not to show too much amusement at the spectacle, although even her resolve was tested when Petre leapt through the window after her, closely followed by Lucjan. In moments, all that remained of the bizarre scene was the laughter of the adepts, the distant shouts of the two furious Masters, and a few sticky feathers fluttering on the breeze.

~o~0~o~

Morning sunlight filtered into Astrid's chambers, the first warm rays gently dancing across the dark wooden floorboards. As they did so, the Grandmaster's eyes snapped open, the weathered Witcher sitting up with a little sigh of weariness. She stretched, wincing as one of her shoulders popped audibly.

The Witcheress' bare feet slipped out from under the covers, flinching for just a moment as they felt the cool chill of the wood. The chills of winter were slow to leave the castle, even as the sun's heat grew in strength day by day. Ignoring the sharp chill in the soles of her feet, the Grandmaster rose to begin her morning's routine of stretches and flexes.

Astrid was only part of the way through her daily regimen when a sudden noise caught her ear. She paused, turning to the source. Padding carefully across the hard wooden floor, utterly soundless in her bare feet, the Grandmaster stalked around her bedroom as she waited for the noise to echo forth again.

There it was again. A subtle, muted chirping. Astrid approached one of her wardrobes and reached for the handle.

As the Witcheress tugged the doors open, the chirping suddenly rose in intensity, a cacophony that assailed her ears. Surprise flitted across the Grandmaster's features, before a resigned sigh escaped her ruby-coloured lips, accompanied by a weary but slightly amused smile.

"Maya..."

There, in the folds of one of Astrid's favourite cloaks, the nest of torn paper sat proudly. The remains of the four eggs lay scattered around the edge of the nest, while four tiny chicks squeaked persistently at the Witcheress, demanding their breakfast. Astrid could only raise a hand to her forehead as she shook her head in equal parts exasperation and amusement.


End file.
